


Muse

by deltachye



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: One Shot, Other, Reader-Insert, Romance, he's so weird i love him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:34:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23383858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x homare arisugawa]Simple bet: he just has to recite one poem that gets your attention. You've got this in the bag.Right...?
Relationships: Arisugawa Homare/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55





	Muse

“It’s just a stupid bet.”

“Oh, [Name]…” Azuma’s smile had a lilt to it that you made you dread the coming words. He swirled the straw in his ice. “You’re not doing a very good job of convincing us.”

“I just thought it was weird that Homare-san kept following you around like that,” Tsumugi offered, sipping at his own drink. “I’m glad it wasn’t anything weird. Weirder than usual.”

“It’s still pretty bad,” Tasuku groaned. “Now we _all_ have to listen to him.”

“…Arisu keeps me up now. He’s loud.”

It was a surprise to all to hear Hisoka speak, though you figured the sweet liquor in his cup was helping him. For some reason, he didn’t tire when drinking and was quite the opposite. He had that weird iron liver, but… to each their own. The only Winter Troupe member missing was the one being spoken about— _he_ apparently had scripture to edit. For _you_. You grimaced.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t be the only one sick of listening to him.”

“Come, now,” Azuma purred coaxingly. “If you hated his poetry so much, would you really agree to such a bet?”

Said bet was simple: if Homare recited a poem that you actually liked, he won, and could do as he pleased. If he didn’t by the end of the week, you won, and he could never say a poem around you again. His extravagant eccentrics had gotten the shorter end of your temper. You thought that if you had to hear him moan terrible rhymes in your ear one more time, you’d explode, so that’s why you took him up on it. But they were starting to get… could you say _decent_ , now, and you were starting to worry that you’d dug yourself a grave.

“What’d he say earlier?” Tsumugi asked, looking over to Tasuku. “In the kitchen.”

“Oh, yeah.” Tasuku cleared his throat and then closed his eyes—as expected from such a talented actor, he changed his body posture so much you felt a nervous chill, as if Homare had suddenly manifested in front of you. “ _Your beauty; endless in depth, such as the night in your eyes; twinkle twinkle, little star, how I wonder to make you mine._ ”

“ _Bravo_ ,” Azuma said with a soft clap, looking genuinely pleased. You slammed the rest of your drink, ignoring the bitter sting down your throat.

“Whatever. You all can make fun of me however you want, but I get freedom in a few days.”

“He’s getting a lot better, though,” Tsumugi mused cheerfully. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he got one out that impressed you.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“N-nobody’s!”

“In any case, my bets are on Arisugawa. Azuma?”

“Homare, for sure.”

“Hisoka?”

“Arisu…”

“No way!” you protested, face warm. “You guys have such little faith in me. I’m not gonna fall for his stupid love poems!”

“Liar,” Hisoka mumbled, dropping his eyes. Azuma smiled wryly.

“And there we have it.”

“ _No_!”

\---

“[Name]—there you are!”

“Aw hell,” you groaned, blinking blearily. Last night you’d gotten a bit over eager for your age and drank more than you meant to, chasing Hisoka (as if that was humanly possible)—the fuzzy headache pounded harder in your sinuses when Homare trotted up towards you. Flatly, you asked, “what.”

“I’ve got it,” he announced proudly, having no respect for your hangover. You winced and nodded, waving him off as you turned back to your coffee.

“’Kay, shoot… wait, there’s no witnesses.” That’d been one of the conditions—at least one witness had to confirm that Homare’s poem really had gotten the better of you. But the main area was vacant, now, save for you and him. He leant in forwards and you froze. When had he gotten this close to you? Hey—

“Miss [Name], I adore you.”

“…what?” You were breathless and for a second you wondered if you were having some feverish beer dream. “That’s not a…”

“It isn’t a poem,” he admitted, suddenly quiet as he glanced to the side. The magenta in his eyes was bright, the way rose petals are at the turning tide of spring. “Not really. I admit, you are quite the enigma, and it’s been impossible to understand your lack of taste. But this comes from the heart. So, in a way, it’s one of my best works.”

“You…” You took a step back to clear the air, feeling suffocated in his encompassing presence. “Do you really mean that?”

“I always mean everything I say.”

“Well. Oh.” Frantic for something to distract yourself with, you stirred sugar into your coffee furiously, sloshing it onto the counter. “That’s very nice.”

“And you…?”

It wasn’t like him to extend a courtesy to you like that. He was still watching you carefully, and it felt like you were going to shatter under his gaze. You cleared your throat, embarrassed, staring at your hands.

“I wouldn’t say I _adore_ you, but you’re not that bad…”

“Ah! So you concede the victory to me?”

“Wh—hey! You said it wasn’t a poem yourse—eep?!”

He’d sidled up more closely again in your frustrated distraction. His hair swung so close to your face, drawing your attention up to his gentle smile. It was different than the rest. His long finger was on your chin, slipping across the skin. You couldn’t tell when he stopped touching you, the feeling short circuiting your entire nervous system.

“You’re my greatest muse,” he whispered, the words dancing across your cheekbone. His eyes darted between each of yours. “I couldn’t stand to go without you hearing my heart.”

“Jeez,” you stammered, pushing on his chest to get your breathing space back. “All right, you win. Just—stop giving me heart attacks, okay? Please!”

“Very well! Though I cannot hold back the fruits of my artistry forever—”

“And lower your voice!”

For all your snapping, you were really secretly pleased—you’d liked all of his poems, actually. You just didn’t want to admit it.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: https://deltachye.tumblr.com/


End file.
